


A little pixie dust

by hungerpunch, prufrocks



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:12:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hungerpunch/pseuds/hungerpunch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/prufrocks/pseuds/prufrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall wears a pair of fairy wings one night on tour; Zayn copes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little pixie dust

Zayn runs a finger beneath one elastic strap of the fairy wings Niall’s just donned, deftly snapping it against Niall’s back to the screams of thousands of girls. Niall jerks and spins to face him, blushing (whether from the sting of the elastic snap or the heat on stage, Zayn can’t be sure). “Be good,” Niall warns, having to lean in close to Zayn’s ear to be heard, “or no pixie dust for you.” 

When they get back to the hotel room everyone’s bouncing off the walls, loud and friendly from their adrenaline highs, but Zayn shoves Niall into a corner alone and grabs the tips of his wings. Niall grins ever so devilishly and pulls him around by the scruff of his neck, lays him right out along the wall, and plants a loose, hot kiss on him, real fast. Zayn's the one feeling the heat now and he can’t stand it, which is why he’s sinking to the ground, Niall on top of him. Niall giggles as they hit the floor, Zayn’s shirt riding up against the wall, and Zayn shushes him with a filthy kiss, pulling him tight with one hand spanning well over half of Niall’s back, fingers tracing the elastic bands of the wings. 

Niall makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat and rolls his hips down against Zayn, who breaks the kiss to swear under his breath. The rest of the boys are keeping up a running commentary full of wit and brilliance, Zayn’s sure, but he can’t hear them; he just wants to get under Niall’s clothes to see if the baby blue stockings and garters are still in place on Niall’s slender legs. 

Zayn’s head is at an awkward angle, squeezed into the corner like that, but he finds he doesn’t mind at all. Niall reaches down and pushes the front of his shirt up to his shoulders to meet the back of it; Zayn’s going to be sporting some carpet burn and wall burn but he doesn’t really care because Niall’s sitting on his chest and it’s a warm, humid heat, pleasantly heavy. And he doesn’t care that everyone is watching, maybe it’s better this way. There’s a fairy sitting on his chest and his name is Niall and he’s about to fuck Zayn so hard he’ll never see daylight again, so to hell with everything else honestly. 

Zayn doesn’t remember the next 30 seconds, just the mad scramble to divest Niall of as much clothing as possible, pawing his stage clothes off without care. Niall smacks a hand on his chest to push him down, then. He’s uncomfortable and his skin stings but when Niall threatens quietly that he’s going to, “Fuck you up so hard,” Zayn arches his back despite the strain and groans despite the audience. His fingers tuck into the band of the garter and he decides he can afford to lose one of them, tugging violently until it rips, and the sight of the torn satin limp across Niall’s thigh makes his dick twitch.

Niall’s face turns unhappy at that. “Jesus, Zayn,” he mutters. “Those are fucking quality.”

Zayn just grins and licks his lips. “Nah, you’re fucking quality,” and that shuts Niall up, he thinks, and he’s triumphant, gloating for a mere second until his legs are wrenched into the air and spread and—shit, Niall, that hurts—but Niall’s yanking his trousers down and they both have to fight to get them off; Niall should have waited to pull his legs apart until after he was naked. Niall slides down off him and Zayn whimpers until suddenly there’s a hand round his cock and a finger sliding behind it.

Louis breaks the silence first with a “Shit, they’re really going to do it on a hotel floor.” Niall throws back his head and laughs, his usual sweet laugh tempered by something a little more reckless, and then Zayn is seeing stars.

Niall doesn’t look away, smile wide and bright at Louis’ words but eyes focused solely on Zayn, reading the dazed look that’s starting to bloom across Zayn’s face—jaw slack, red roughing out the swell of his cheekbones, eyelids fluttering. Niall licks the lower lip of his grin and hums, quieting down, hand keeping up a steady rhythm on Zayn’s cock while his fingers move from teasing Zayn’s balls to the thin strip of sensitive skin behind them, and finally down to brush just over Zayn’s hole. Niall is almost completely wrapped up in the way Zayn _shudders_ , but for another comment from Louis. Niall pauses, turns his head, glaring death at the rest of his bandmates. “Shut the bloody hell up if you’re not going to join in,” he says.

They shut up.

Zayn isn’t sure, but he can sort of see over Niall’s hunched figure that they’re arranging themselves on one of the beds, in a line like little ducks, Liam, Louis, Harry, one by one. He hears the soft flop of pants hitting the floor and shit this _is_ really happening. 

Niall leans forward and presses his mouth to Zayn’s, his tongue flicking out of his mouth to meet the crack in Zayn’s upper lip that a whole tube of chapstick hasn’t healed yet and it hurts, but he can’t vocalize; is only capable of arching his back as Niall shoulders his legs even farther towards his head, nearly bent in half but at least Niall’s dragging him further away from the wall, giving his head somewhere to go. Zayn stretches his neck back and swears to God that he’s going to read Niall the riot act if he doesn’t take the next step Right Fucking Now. And he does, withdrawing his hand from between Zayn’s cheeks to wet his finger messily on his own tongue before returning it to stroke softly once, twice before he pushes it in. It’s not too fast but it’s unrelenting, and Zayn’s done this to himself enough times, curious in the shower, but it’s an entirely new world having Niall’s calloused finger there instead.

Niall doesn’t muck about; once he’s in up to his third knuckle, he thrusts in and out only a few times before adding a second finger. He pushes in deep and then crooks them, petting inside him, and Zayn’s just trying to keep breathing around the onslaught of sensation. After that, he doesn’t have time for anything more than a deep guttural noise before Niall’s sliding his fingers out with an obscene, slick sound and then slamming into him with everything he’s got.

Zayn almost cries, turning his head to the side and biting viciously into his knuckles because god _damn_. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes, but it’s so satisfying, the pain ratcheting up in his lower back and radiating down his thighs—which Niall is digging his blunt nails into as he hitches Zayn up higher into his lap for better purchase. Niall hasn’t taken off the wings and they flutter in Zayn’s peripheral vision. Niall lets go of one of Zayn’s thighs to reach up and wrench Zayn’s knuckles out of the vise of his teeth, and that hurts too, but Zayn doesn’t care because Niall’s filling up his space, curling down over him as he stills, just for a moment, fully inside Zayn and says, “Wanna hear you.” 

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” is the first thing Zayn can think to say, and he twists his head around, can’t look Niall in the eyes, but Niall growls slightly and Zayn looks back.

“Wanna _hear_ you,” Niall repeats, and Zayn complies.

“You’re the— _fuck_ —I’ve never—oh _shit_ —first time like this—shit—Niall,” he finally manages to croak out, and Niall slows down then, cocking an eyebrow, and who told him he was allowed to grow up like that?

“I can slow down?” Niall asks, quietly, but Louis hears him and lets out a low whistle, “Don’t give in, Nialler, can’t go any slower than I already am!” And shit, they’re tossing off back there aren’t they.

Zayn shakes his head but Niall seems skeptical and slows his pace anyway. It’s not any less thorough, though, Niall thrusting in all the way and then grinding in place, torturing them both, rolling his hips in a pretty graceful effort, if you asked him, to find Zayn’s sweet spot. Zayn goes from rapid chanting to slowly groaning out filthy curse words, his head knocking against the floor. Niall leans down to suck a brutal love bite into Zayn’s exposed neck, and the fairy wings jar up in 90 degree angles from his contracted shoulderblades. 

It should be fucking ridiculous but instead it’s just ridiculously hot. Zayn makes a futile attempt to caress one wing again but his reach falls short and he ends up latching onto Niall’s nipple instead, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, humming pleasantly at the noise Niall makes.

Niall comes hard and fast then, the sudden, erratic movements making Zayn gasp and squeeze—he was not prepared for this, the onslaught of heat and sweat and sensation making him roll back and falter. Niall redoubles his efforts stroking Zayn’s dick and Zayn can’t hold it in anymore, coming with Niall’s name on his lips. It’s everywhere, everywhere, it gets on the left wing and Niall laughs, breathing labored. He pulls out slowly and then collapses on top of Zayn, who reaches up a hand, wipes his come off the wing and tries to apologize, but in one swift movement Niall has grabbed his hand and shoved it into his own mouth. Zayn falters for a moment at the scrape of braces but then his fingers are approaching the back of Niall’s throat, and Zayn puts some force into it, pushing. Niall gags, lets out a gurgling retching noise that has Zayn moving to pull his hand back, but then swallows and grins hard and sly. “Never tried that before,” is his only excuse.

His speech is sloppy around Zayn’s glistening fingers and he must register the look of want on Zayn’s face, because he makes a show of licking the length of each finger, even once Zayn’s come is well gone, softly sucking at the pad of each fingertip, the metal of his braces giving it an edge. Zayn takes control of his own hand again and taps his fingers against Niall’s braces, mostly in curious exploration, but also because he wants to let Niall know they don’t deter him. In fact—he tugs Niall down and meets him in an open-mouthed kiss, tongues sliding together almost immediately which, is tempting, but Zayn backs off just a touch in order to run the tip of his tongue over as much of Niall’s top row of braces as he can, breathing hot into Niall’s mouth. Niall freezes, going still in his wonderment as Zayn makes his way left to right. 

It’s a good feeling.

There’s a thump from behind them as Liam flops over and hits the bed, exhaling heavily enough that Zayn and Niall can hear it from their corner, and Harry and Louis are close behind. They don’t want to watch the tender shit, apparently, instead rolling into each other and murmuring in low tones and maybe grabbing each other, Zayn doesn’t care. He’s looking at Niall, everything of him he can see from his lip-locked vantage point, his shoulders and the freckles on them and the red marks where the elastic’s dug too tight. And the wings, the fucking wings; he still can’t get enough of his fairy Niall, the fairy Niall who’s cupping his jaw softly and running a wet hand through his hair.

“That was nice,” Niall whispers when they finally let go of each others’ mouths.

Zayn is so struck by how disproportionate the comment seems that he snorts loudly. “It was a lot of things, dunno ‘bout _nice_.” His voice isn’t loud but it’s graveled from the sex, so Zayn softens it with a small smile.

Niall chews his already-abused lower lip and suddenly looks disconcerted. “I’ll take better care of you, next time,” he says, sincere and repentant. 

Zayn barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Liked it, didn’t I?” he asks, and then, after an expectant pause, “Next time?” hopeful, and then Niall’s all smiles again, sunshine and pixie dust.

Niall burrows down, bestowing an Eskimo kiss to Zayn in a display of tenderness that Zayn would expect from Niall anyway. “Next time,” he reassures. “If you’re good.”


End file.
